The Dusk and The Sunshine
by Veron Edalene
Summary: At the advent of the Kingdom of Insomnia's downfall, two very different people of the same world meet in the most unconventional of times. They both conceal a fragment of their past that they cannot deny but not to one another.
1. Prologue: They're Mine Now

**M.E. 735**

 ** _Sometime in the month of December_**

In the month where the winter becomes much crueler, the frozen wastelands become more and more of a purgatory. A land where the tundra never melts, where the frost never lifts, and where there is little life; Niflheim has become powerful and yet inhumane of their practices in search for the ultimate tool to ascend their power.

Through the stale and lifeless halls of the facility, so many have been robbed of their innocence. Unknowing infants being brought to and fro in the corridors, going room to room, never knowing the warmth of a mother's breast.

Countless needles pin into the soft flesh of the infants—followed by the natural wailing in reaction to the sharp pain—and they are returned to their transparent tube-like cribs once scientists are done with their obligatory report.

Every child has something in common—a barcode tattooed on their right wrists. Yet their distinction from one another are the numbers encoded in each issued bar. It can dictate whether the infant is immune, deficient, or potential to transmute into one of their creatures.

The Kingdom of Lucis hears the news of this malpractice and seeks to cease it. King Regis Lucis Caelum, the 113th King of Lucis, sends out his soldiers—the Crownsguard—to Niflheim with the sole mission to rescue as many children as they can with the condition of no discrimination among the children to take.

The platoon disperses across the facility, entering rooms and incapacitating the scientists who resist them and dispose of the Magitek troopers who attempt to apprehend them.

Diovus Platea, a soldier of the Crownsguard, along with other members who took his side, makes his way into one of the rooms filled with transparent, closed cribs. They quickly flicked the switches that kept the cribs closed, some of them even break the panels, each bring a single child.

Diovus searches for the cribs, but he had the time in the world—as if the adrenaline-pumping moment of breaking out infants has stopped time. He's laid his eyes on an infant girl and right next to her is a boy—slightly older. Both are wailing possibly due to the pain that they have received from those needles. He takes whatever remaining luxury he has to check their name cards attached to the crib for identification.

 _Neoma._ The girl.

 _Orius._ The boy.

Below each of their names are the barcode numbers inscribed in their barcodes.

It seems that their surnames have been gotten rid of. Perhaps the scientists did it so that they will have no recognized trace when someone tries to find them here.

Like the other soldiers who are with him, some of them planned to carry two babies while they have a companion to cover for them along the way out. Diovus himself does this. He takes both boy and girl in his arms and his second-in-command stays by his side.

"Alcimus, cover me!"

"Yessir!"

Alcimus—whose expertise is more of the arcane than the combat itself—takes the lead in front of his commanding officer. He conjures up a wall that deflects the bullets and the melee blows that would ever come to Diovus and the infants in his arms.

They make their way through the metal-walled corridors, along the way they bump into few of their comrades who don't have their hands full.

"Don't risk your lives for me, men! Risk for your own." Diovus roars.

"It is my choice to fight by your side, sir!" One Crownsguard replies, fighting off the MTs that come toward or behind them.

 _Warning. Security compromised._

The computer voice rung through the speakers in the entire facility, repeatedly acknowledging the presence of the Crownsguard thus alerting more of the MTs to apprehend them by all means. The artificial soldiers come pouring in from every doorway and hall but the Crownsguard was prepared for this. With Diovus leading majority of the platoon, it was assumed to be successful.

"The ones who don't have their hands full ought to be taking care of those chicken-walkers!" Diovus roars.

"They got it covered, sir!"

"Is our passage clear, Alcimus?"

"Yes sir, just clean up the remaining daemons and MTs there."

"Well, I'd hate to leave without a farewell party." Diovus blurts.

As soon as they reach the spacious garage that leads to the frozen wastelands, they are greeted by a band of MTs accompanied by an MA Veles.

"We got this, sir. Take the children to the car. We'll catch up!" Alcimus insists.

Yet Diovus is torn between standing with his comrades and saving the children. He very well knows that he cannot compromise either. So he carried both of the small infants in his left arm and drew out his sword on his free hand. Diovus fought his way through the MTs and crippled the MA Veles by the legs with one fell blow on each leg.

"Sir, the snowmobile—use it! We'll meet you in the rendezvous point."

Diovus did not waste time in positioning the children on the snowmobile and escaped the facility. He speeds through the slit of the door that could fit just a single snowmobile and then dashed to the general direction where the rendezvous point is.

Overhead, he can see the Lucian airships within the area. Ahead of him are more MTs waiting for him to close distance so they can get a better shot. Without risking the safety of the children, he takes out an elemental grenade—a Firaga in particular—and throws it to the cluster of MTs waiting for him. He speeds through the flames untouched—and so are the infants—then dodges and swerves away from the rocks and kept his eyes on the wide stretch of white and the Lucian airships floating above him.

He twists the acceleration handlebar up to a notch, picking up speed and flying away by sliding on upwards-inclined rocks that gained him distance and speed from the stationed MTs waiting for any target that isn't Niflheim.

 _Almost there._ Diovus tells himself.

He speeds up some more and then reaches the rendezvous point with the rest of the Crownsguard.

"I see you got your hands full." One of the Crownsguard remarks as he notices the two infants in Diovus's arms.

"They're…" he pauses, then lovingly looks down on both children, "They're mine now. They'll be safe with me."

The airships flew off back to the Crown City and the small band of gunships obliterated the MA units and MTs before any of them could even fire a ballista at the fleet.


	2. Prologue: Apprentices to the Crown

**M.E. 743**

 ** _Summer_**

In the concrete jungle that is the capital city, the business of the daily lives of the people remains the same and unfettered. Adults go to their respective workplaces, children go to school and play, while the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive remain true to their duty to the Kingdom and the royal family.

"Come on, we're gonna be late!" an anxious Orius calls out to his sister while they run their way towards somewhere.

"I'm not the one who's a slowpoke!" Neoma playfully remarks, not even breaking a sweat in her running.

"Oh yeah?" Orius huffs, "Well, I'm gonna beat you to it!"

Both children dash their way through the intricate outer foyer of the palace until they hobble to the two flights of the grand staircase carpeted in red.

Orius reaches the top of the stairs first and catches his breath to spend his bragging rights at his sister—who apparently keeps on going despite placing last.

"The race isn't over until we find Father!" she giggles then stops at her pace when two Kingsglaives—one is taller and the other has a stout—build open the massive door before she could struggle on her own opening it with her skinny arms.

"Well, hello there." Greets a young man with a small arrow tattoo marking his right cheekbone as he bends his knees to level with little Neoma.

"Hello." The child greets back.

"Pardon us, sirs, but we were just about to enter." Orius reasons.

"Now what would two little runners be doing at the grand staircase in broad daylight?" the young man coos in question as he puts his hands on his waist.

"We're looking for our father, but I'm going to beat my brother to the race—I'll surely win and find him first before he could!" she answers confidently even though a part of its essence is a joke.

"Who is your father?" the companion Kingsglaive asks Neoma.

Neoma answers with Diovus's full name only. The two Kingsglaive continue to verbally play with the kids, poured out information about Diovus's whereabouts until they offered their time to help them locate their father, after explaining the fact that they could get lost around the entire place—be in places that they shouldn't be—and not be able to find their father in time.

The siblings suspend their competition and they followed the two Kingsglaives. Along the way, the ever-curious Neoma breaks the silence every once in a while with her questions about the smallest details that she's observed from them. Mostly it's only the taller Glaive who is responsive when it comes to Neoma's naïve questions.

"Why do you have arrows on your faces?"

"We had them."

"I don't see many people having that on themselves."

"Because we're not from here in Insomnia." He glances over his shoulder and his eyes find a curious-faced Neoma catching up to their stride.

"Where are you from then?" Orius asks then.

"Galahd. Just a bit away from this city." The stout one replies.

He turns his head back forward and continues leading the way for the brother and sister while nodding and greeting back at every fellow Kingsglaive or Crownsguard that comes in their way.

A series twists and turns through doorframes and corridors under the guidance, they reach the room where the exact location of Diovus—it is designed to be a room for fencing practice complete with dummy weapons and foamed armory; but before Neoma and Orius could run up to their father, the second Kingsglaive tells them to wait for them to do their respects for having their presence acknowledged by the higher ranks such as Diovus himself.

"Master Platea?"

"Ah, Ulric, Ostium. What brings you back here?"

"You have visitors—excited ones too." Ulric responds with a smirk.

Neoma thought that that was the signal for them that they can go inside the room now so shoves herself through the tight space between Ulric and Ostium and comes running towards Diovus.

"Papa!"

Orius follows.

"Ah, so here are my little visitors!" Diovus scoops his daughter and brought her up in the air.

Once Diovus has put down Neoma back on the floor, she scurries to the area of the armory where cascading shelves of various weapons are displayed. The girl's fascination gleams in her eyes as her eyes trail the length of the shelves.

"Papa?" Neoma calls.

"Yes, dear?"

"When will I get to have my own sword like yours?"

Diovus lets out a small chuckle, amused by the curiosity and determination that he finds so endearing from his daughter.

"Soon, my little moon. It won't be long now."

Diovus and his sparring partner resume their practice while the children watch the session from the upper platform where the racks upon racks of weapons are. Carefully, Neoma studied her father's movements visually and embedded them in her mind while Orius studies it by mimicking them—the lunges, the parrying, the thrusts, and even the even yet in their training and they were just beginning to understand how combat works. Not knowing of their histories and what they were supposed to become and yet they have the hope that they will be much like their father.

Thw two aren't even in their training yet but from what they're seeing right now, they're beginning to understand how combat works. Not knowing of their histories and what they were supposed to become and yet they have the hope that they will be much like their father.

"Hey, Neoma," Orius blurts.

"Yeah?"

"What weapon do you think you'll wield? I wanna wield a broadsword just like Father's!" the boy says enthusiastically, almost as if he's victorious.

But Neoma thought for a while, she looked at the weapons rack and her eye always seem to focus on one thing—a crossbow. From there, she knew her answer.

"I might wield a crossbow or a lance."

"Well, you have to be strong to carry either of them! I'm gonna be strong too so I can swing my sword."

They continue watching and learning—in their own way—as their father keeps himself focused on his opponent.

In a span of months, Diovus has trained both Neoma and Orius about the various techniques, methods, and styles in combat and strategy that he thinks suitable for the both of them. He eventually repeated his sparring sessions with the children, ones that the two curiously watched.

* * *

 ** _Six months later_**

Diovus has requested his son and daughter to be enrolled into the training regimen of the Crownsguard.

The children have grown a normal life—they go to school, they play, and then they report to the palace for training. Both undergo the same regimen as most recruits into the Crownsguard but the siblings do not always go in the same phases of their training. However, all of the recruits must perform particular exercises wherein they have gathered all together for a synchronized regimen.

As Neoma and Orius grew, they develop their techniques individually. It took some time for them. They've even come across skirmishes along the way with their fellow apprentices but it was quickly resolved—to avoid getting word to their father.

The girl has indeed developed a taste for lances, polearms, but she has invested herself with a crossbow. Nimble and lithe is her figure, and agility was her greatest ally. The brother grew with brute strength, with a liking to greatswords despite his medium built—which is the least usual body type of a greatsword wielder—his patience and timing are astounding.

"Perhaps, it's time for the two of you to try out something different from your usual arsenal." Diovus comes in, interrupting the siblings' training session.

"And what's that different thing, Father?" Neoma asks musingly.

"Hold out your hands, you two."

They obeyed. For a minute, it seemed like they are doing nothing but hold out their hands open in mid-air. With a little bit of patience and calm, blue particles started to form from the center of their hands—originating from nothing but the air—it eventually takes form and hovers an inch over their palms.

"Are these..." Orius.

"Our weapons?" Neoma.

"Soon enough, my children. Once the both of you have completed your training, these weapons will soon be in your possession. Only at the time that the Crystal sees it fit."

The apparitions of their future weapons dissolved—reducing back to its origins: air.

"Go on, now. You two aren't done with practice."

They bowed for courtesy as they are on the premises of the palace, they trot back to the yard and catch up to the exercises.


	3. Chapter 1: The First Moment

**M.E. 750**

It has been seven years of training and living a double life; training in the Palace with their father keeping a close eye on them from time to time, at the same time befriending fellow apprentices and even catching glimpses of the young prince—who was having a different regimen under Gladiolus Amicitia, the son of one of the King Regis's men, Clarus—and then juggling school on the other days.

Both Neoma and Orius attend the same high school—although they were sorted into different classes and Orius is technically a year higher—and it wasn't that too difficult for them to blend in, unlike the walking talk-of-the-town that is the young Prince Noctis—who has girls squealing and tittering for him left and right.

"Isn't he gorgeous?!" a bob-haired student sighs.

"He has that aura of mystery that I just seem to can't get enough of!" A girl in a long ponytail swoons relatively.

Two girls—who happen to be Neoma's friends—continuously giggle while Neoma spaces out staring at the window.

"Hey, Neoma!" the bob-haired one taps her gently on the back of her hand to snap her out of it.

"Huh?" she turns her head to them.

"Didn't you hear us?"

"Oh, I heard you both, alright." She turns her gaze back to the window where two boys stand underneath the shade of a tree somewhere in the schoolyard.

Both of the girls followed the general direction of Neoma's gaze—they assumed that she was looking at Noctis and not his blond companion, Prompto.

"See? She agrees with us!" the bob-haired one says and she continues on with her swooning with her companion.

 _"They can't get any more wrong, can they?"_ Neoma thinks to herself.

It's lunchtime and Neoma usually eats her lunch somewhere that isn't crowded—one example is the school gardens which is seldom visited but ironically well-maintained. Unlike her extroverted brother—who earned a certain degree of popularity in school—she prefers being alone and she thinks she enjoys it.

The way to the garden from the school building is a bit of a long walk but Neoma finds it relaxing. In the middle of the walk, Neoma reads a book in one hand while holding her lunch in the other; since she's memorized the path to the garden—since she frequents the spot so often—she has no trouble in looking more at something else than the way.

Halfway to the gardens, Prompto and Noctis are coincidentally taking the same path. Both of them were so indulged with their conversation that they didn't notice Neoma in the way—this resulted to a minor clash in the middle of the path and a clutter of books and a lunchbox.

Out of impulse, trying her best not to ramble out her frustrations, she picks up her book and her lunchbox—helping her was Prompto who was picking up the papers that fell from the pages.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Prompto says, piling the papers together and attempting to straighten them out.

"Don't worry, it's my fault—I wasn't looking." Neoma shyly mutters.

Before Neoma could realize, she stole an upward glance and caught a glimpse of a familiar color of hair—sunshine blond.

Then Prompto faces her, friendly as he is by nature, he hands over the papers he's picked up and he does it with a mellow smile.

"Here you go. No harm done!"

"Thank you so much. Really, you shouldn't have bothered."

"Ahh, it's nothing. Happy to help!"

Noctis notices another book that has strayed from its owner, he bends over to take it, he gives it a good dusting and then gives it to Neoma.

"I believe this is yours?"

"Oh, thank you, Prince Noctis."

"Oh, what a relief," the prince says, not in a brooding way but rather in a genuinely relieved tone.

"Did… I say something?" Neoma asks for reassurance, slightly confused as Prompto.

"You're someone who doesn't grovel and be exaggeratingly grateful just because I handed them back their stuff." Noctis continues.

Prompto eyes on the hardbound cover of the book, he gestures lightly at it, "Also, that's an interesting book you got there. What's a girl like you reading about swords?"

Neoma stuttered at the question, wondering if she should make up an excuse or stay true.

"It's… it's a hobby of mine." She answers while secretly clutching on to her book.

"That sounds cool. Your drawings look awesome too." Prompto comments.

"What?"

"Your drawings—the ones I picked up, I snuck a peek and thought they're cool." He nervously chuckles and scratches the back of his neck.

"T-Thanks."

"Alright, come on now, Prompto. Let the girl have her lunch." Noctis says as he swings his arm around Prompto's neck, hooking him and dragging him along.

Before they could even get farther from her, Prompto escape from Noctis's choke and turned around to wave back. Shyly, Neoma returned the gesture and proceeded to her favorite spot to eat her lunch.

Meanwhile, Noctis and Prompto's conversation went on. However, Neoma became an addition to the topic—which was brought up by Prompto from time to time.

"What do you think of that girl earlier?" Prompto.

"She seems okay. I mean, she's not like those other girls who come at my tail every minute."

"I guess she's not that type of girl."

"Perhaps. Why? She your type?"

Prompto smiled—not in his playboy way—and looked up at the trees that shades their path, "Heh, maybe."

"Okay, that was a playful-sounding 'maybe' so I'll take that as a yes."

The blond laughs in response, then he shifts into another subject.

"So, you got any plans tonight?"

"The usual."

"Which usual?"

"The Gladio usual."

Prompto makes a prolonged "Oh" and needn't any explanation, for they have developed particular slang words that only they can understand—something that has strengthened their bond in these few months of school. As they took sanctuary in any place in the school as long as they're not being crowded by schoolgirls that have been following them around, they decided to eat their lunch there and enjoy the silence—ironically, a luxury that Noctis can't seem to have in this environment at his disposal.

For the carefree blond who's always by his side, he cannot help but think of the girl he bumped into at the path. At that moment earlier, he felt a tinge that he finds difficult to explain but the sensation is surreal—as if he knows a thing or two about the girl that's not from hearsay or secondhand information. He felt a connection. He had it. He just didn't realize it yet.

He only remembered how she looked at him and how pure her expression was.

Neoma enjoys her lunch while studying more about the small book of weapons she had borrowed from her father's study. She stares intently at an entire fold dedicated to a crossbow alone—two whole pages were covered by the illustration of a common crossbow: its attributes, what kind of the fighter its wielder is, the damage it deals, how far each arrow could go, and all else.

She snacks on a piece of karaage from her lunch while flipping to the next page. She pauses from her reading and looks at the peaceful bustle of the students around the campus—the athletes do their laps around the school, girl friends strut while sharing stories about random things, and wallflowers sit anywhere to do their reading or their homework.

There's twenty minutes left before the bell indicating lunch has ended would ring. Neoma delicately places her bookmark—a simple strip of a black ribbon—between the pages of the chapter she just stopped at. She finishes her lunch but she savors the karaage that she and her father marinated last night. The scent of the food caught the attention of a stray cat wandering around the school and so it meowed to get Neoma's attention.

"You're a pretty little thing. Are you a Coeurl kitten?" she giggles to herself and realizes, "Impossible. Maybe you're just a regular kitten."

She tears a piece of the meat and slowly stalks towards the cat, careful not to scare it away; slowly reaching out with the food in her hand, she patiently waits for the animal to come closer and gain its trust, the feline cautiously pads its way towards Neoma's hand, sniffs the food, and nabs it with its tiny, pinprick teeth.

Neoma gives her half-eaten karaage to the cat while she enjoys a whole new one. She does not notice it, but someone else is near her—adjusting the focus of his camera's lens, antsy to finally get the perfect angle, focus, and lighting before clicking the shutter button; he's got it until the oblivious Neoma comes up again to offer the cat another scrap of food, but then again, it's a good shot—might as well take it.

Prompto checks the captured photo on playback, he feels kind of proud to have captured a candid moment—he's had those moments but rarely—without any time to spare to adjust the settings. Eventually, Neoma sensed his presence and spotted him, she just waited for him to look up from his camera.

"Did you just took a picture of me?"

It was Prompto's time to stutter at the question, and he had no other good excuse to bail himself from this situation—moreover, he doesn't know how to handle it since he hasn't had incidents like these.

"Well, I was about to take a photo of the cat but…" he stops mid-sentence, thinking of a better way to say that she has gotten in the way but it's totally understandable since she didn't even know he was there the whole time.

"Oh, did I get in the way? Did I ruin it?"

"No! Actually, you made it kinda better."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you wanna take a look?"

"Sure."

Shyly, Neoma comes up to Prompto to take a look at the photo—she realizes that she only stands almost an inch short from Prompto, she didn't count the height of his hair because he's styled his bangs upward—Prompto presses the playback button and scrolls through the gallery until he found the candid shot he liked.

Noticing the detail on how Prompto captures his photos, out of curiosity, she asks, "How long have you been doing this?"

"I've been into this sort of thing when I got my hands on my own camera back in elementary."

"You're actually good with one."

Prompto looks at her, she seems to have taken a step back when she sensed that he was going to look at her after she said that.

He smiles at her, "Thanks."

He puts away the camera and she goes back to the table where her things are, Neoma notices that the cat has buggered off and so she resolved to collect her things before class starts.

"By the way, from what class are you in?" Prompto asks, without so much as waiting for her to turn around to him after gathering her stuff and head in the general direction where he's standing.

He waits for an answer as Neoma fumbles with her things, she turns around, not yet done fixing her things as she thought that she has taken too long for him to wait for an answer.

"I'm from Class 2-2."

"Oh, so we're neighbors then! I'm from 2-3."

"I… I actually thought you were from 2-1, you know, considering that you hang around with the Prince so often."

"Well, we've kinda known each other since grade school. So, sections don't mean much to us."

Neoma nods, then proceeds to continue on fixing her things on her table, she's only rearranged her books and her lunchbox since she hasn't completely finished her meal—and she's still hungry.

"Have you had lunch yet?" Neoma politely and welcomingly asks as she sits down again on her spot.

"Well, I did grab a snack with Noct, so… I'm good. But thank you!"

"Alright."

No one spoke afterwards, Neoma continued with her meal while Prompto looked around the walkway's tree canopy—looking for another subject: a bird in its nest, another stray cat, or a squirrel—then it took another few more minutes before either of them could break into conversation. Until the ending lunch bell rang and everyone in the campus started scampering around the school to get ready.

Just when Neoma was about to leave, Prompto finally managed to muster up the gut to ask her name.

"Wait…!" Prompto calls out and Neoma stops in her tracks—she turns around.

"Yeah?"

"I didn't catch your name."

"It's—"

Out of nowhere, Neoma's friends come charging towards her, grabbing both her arms and dragging her away from the scene and then back to the building in a panic rooting from the fear of being late and getting a scolding from their teachers.

Prompto just watches her get dragged away from him while he follows the crowd in a leisurely pace.


End file.
